Titanium
by Stephane Richer
Summary: All your bullets ricochet, I'm talking loud, not saying much.


Titanium

Disclaimer: I don't own Tite Kubo's _Zombiepowder_ or Madilyn Bailey's recording of "Titanium".

* * *

Gamma rolls over. Sleep will not come to him this night. His hair tumbles across his face and angers him, but it's that useless anger, misdirected and no matter how much he brushes it back or cuts it the anger won't go away. It's not just anger, it's…what is it? Does it have a name?

Is this what it means to be a monster? To not be able to put a name to one's feelings? Maybe that dumbass was right; maybe he's got more than a little cold, hard monster inside of him; maybe the man (the not-man?) he was is not dead, but just dormant inside of him and waiting to take over.

No, this isn't really anger, not completely. It's _want_. He wants them all to see that that is not him, that he has changed, that he does not live and die by _her_ but by his own standards, that he has gone so far ahead of that that he cannot see it in his rearview mirror, that it was once important and got him where he is now but he can't go back. It was just another used car lot, another gas station.

Most of all, he wants Smith to see that, Smith, his partner, the person who knows him best, still doesn't see past all of this. Sure, he sees Gamma's inner conflicts, especially in regards to the boy (what to teach him? To take him or not? How to guide him?) but he doesn't see all of them. He doesn't see this one. He just sees things as they were, absolute and unchangeable and he hates Smith for it, and perhaps that's the thing that makes him love Smith the most, if that makes any sense.

He's Akutabi Gamma; this doesn't have to make any sense.

Still, maybe this quest is more trouble than it's worth. They're bound to all get killed, especially now that it looks like they've got three tagalongs with a lot to learn. Even if Wolfina and Emilio leave, that leaves Elwood. He could go in so many directions, and having a hand in it, even if he's perfectly successful, terrifies Gamma. Hell, all of it terrifies him. Even if they do find all the rings, then what? Doubt eats away at him, and maybe that's his own personal inner ring. Fuck.

"You know, if you want to talk…"

Damn, when did he get here? Think of the devil, and C. T. Smith appears beside him, adjusting his glasses.

And no, thank you, Akutabi Gamma does not want to talk now. He's had enough talking. No one's going to listen; no one's going to really hear what he has to say. He's just the chainsaw guy who's up to his neck in issues and angsty past lives, no matter how tall he gets. Talking won't help at this point. Fuck talking.

Instead he lunges at Smith, who's got a gun (seriously? At this hour? He's not surprised, just annoyed) pointed at his head before he makes contact but Gamma doesn't care now if his brains get blown out; he kisses Smith straight on the lips and waits for the trigger-pulled explosion,

Instead, he feels Smith's grip slacken and the gun falls harmlessly to the floor and Smith doesn't do anything else. He doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't move away either. So Gamma just keeps going, because once he starts anything there's no way he can stop or break the cycle so he pokes his tongue into Smith's mouth and runs it along those damn perfect teeth (some fake ones in there, too, so that's how!) and waits.

It could be minutes, seconds, milliseconds, hours, (fuck time when you're doing this, that's not what you should think about at least according to Gamma) but then Smith grabs his face and pulls him even closer. Sooner or later, they have to breathe, and Smith breaks first.

"I thought—" he gasps.

Gamma shoves his fingers down Smith's throat. "Shut up. We're not talking now."

And thankfully, Smith finally gets the message. He may not get why; he may not get Gamma. Right now that doesn't really matter.

As soon as they both seem to be breathing normally, Gamma removes his fingers and starts kissing Smith again, this time with an immediate reaction. The other man drifts backward until they're lying down (but Gamma can't remember landing), lips still locked and now Smith's hands start roaming up and down Gamma's torso and he tries to squirm away but there's nowhere to go and that felt really fucking good.

Using one hand to prop him up on the floor, Gamma starts ripping off the buttons on Smith's shirt (at least he's already disposed of the jacket and tie) with the other, jagged and awkward because it's Gamma and because Smith's hands are doing—what are they doing? He's not even sure he's wearing clothes anymore. If he was to begin with. It doesn't matter.

What clothes they were wearing are quickly discarded, along with Smith's glasses. They touch and grab and tease and lick and kiss and bite all along one another's bodies. It's damn wonderful to not have to think about anything, and Gamma almost squeals (if it's physically possible for someone like him to actually squeal, well, that's another story) as Smith twists his nipple, and Smith grins a familiar saucy grin and Gamma wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

So he takes his mouth lower, lower, chest, ribs, abs, hips, bites the hip hard and deep enough to leave a decent hickey (and hopefully a bruise, too) and when he looks up Smith looks very bothered and his expression is nowhere close to a smirk anymore and then Gamma's mouth is on Smith's cock and now Smith can't help but make noise and it's Gamma's turn to grin.


End file.
